She fiddled with her reticule strings, stalling for time to pull herself together. Then, blessedly once more in control, she lifted her chin. “I did not see you in church, sir.”
His grin faded. “No, I suppose you didn’t.”
“Then I shall look for you next week.”
He clutched his medical bag with both hands, holding it almost like a shield. “Not even the keenest eye can detect that which isn’t there.”
Now that was an intriguing rock to overturn. She angled her head. “You do not attend services?”
A smirk lifted one side of his mouth, dimpling the divot in his shorn beard. “I am not certain God would welcome a heathen such as myself.”
“A true heathen would not acknowledge a God who may or may not welcome him.”
“Touché.” Admiration flared in the green flecks of his eyes. “Then let us just say I suspect God is aware of my imperfections, which is reason enough not to try His patience by pretending to be a saint.”
“But that is exactly why youshouldgo. Every breath we draw is a testament to God’s patience. I should know, for He’s not struck me down with lightning.” She glanced at the sky. “Yet.”
A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “I hardly think you’ve done anything bad enough to deserve such a fate.”
“We are all sinners at heart, Mr. Lambert.”
“Some more than others, I’m afraid.” His mirth faded. So did the warmth in his voice. Surely he wasn’t speaking of himself…was he?
She opened her mouth to ask his meaning, when a severe voice cut through the air.
“This is the Lord’s day, you foul little street rat. Out of my way!”
A girl’s cry followed. So did thewhumpof a body hitting the ground.
Mr. Lambert pivoted, and Amelia gawked past him. The little flower seller sprawled on the cobbles, fallen between a carriage and its horses, just as Amelia had the night she’d slipped at the docks. With a great stomp of a rear hoof, one of the beasts flattened the girl’s poppies, narrowly missing her head.
A man in a keenly tailored suit disappeared inside that carriage, totally ignoring the child. If he departed now, the grind of the wheels would cut her in half. Instinctively, Amelia fingered for her feather. Absent. Mercy! Of all the days to stop carrying her charm. She turned to Mr. Lambert, but he was already flying towards the girl, his bag lying forgotten on the ground.
By now Betsey had joined her side, her fist shaking in the air at the driver. “Take a care, you cuffin! There’s a child on the road.”
The driver clicked his tongue. “Then she’d best move. Off with ye, girl!” He slapped his whip against the leather seat with a sharp crack.
The horses jolted, jerking the coach ahead several inches. The girl struggled to crawl out, but her hem was firmly caught beneath a wheel.
“Drive on!” The owner’s voice bellowed inside the carriage.
In one great swoop, Mr. Lambert scooped the girl into his arms and yanked her away, the carriage clipping him on the side and causing him to stumble. Amelia reached for them both, but he’d already righted himself. He set the girl on her own two feet.
“An excellent save, Mr. Lambert!” She smiled up at him before stooping to the child’s level. “And you, little miss, are you all right?”
Dazed, the girl nodded, still leaning against the doctor’s leg.
Mr. Lambert patted her head. “I think she shall be right as rain.”
“Aye, sir.”The girl’s brave words were belied by a quiver of her lower lip—one that broke Amelia’s heart.
Once again Amelia reached out, but the child flinched. To what kind of cruelties was she accustomed? “Perhaps after such an awful fright, you should return home, child.”
“Ain’t got a home, m’um.” The girl glanced at the poppies, crushed in a heap on the street. “And now I got me no flowers.” Tears sprouted, leaving stark white tracks against the girl’s dirty cheeks.
Amelia pulled out her kerchief and wiped them away, making a great smear of things. When finished, she pressed the cloth into the girl’s hand. “For you.”
The child blinked, wonder wide in her dark brown eyes. “Thank ye.”
